Life Experiences
by Regina lacrimarum
Summary: Series of random ficlets. Various characters, but Hermione or Ginny will appear in many. Says romance but really different genres. Pick and choose which to read as you wish; they're self-contained. Some very light slash and femmeslash.
1. Laugh

Disclaimer: I don't own any of this. It's all J. K. R.'s.

This was written for the 100 Times challenge in the Harry Potter Fanfiction Challenges Forum. Think of it as a series of one shots. Sometimes the stories will conflict (different pairings involving the same people, alive/dead people, etc.).

Chapter 1: Laugh

Hermione laughed until the tears ran down her face. She knew that she shouldn't, she knew that it would upset Ron, but really, he looked hysterical. Fred and George had tested their latest product on him. It was only supposed to make him quack like a duck for a few minutes, but it was still in its experimental stages, and it had turned him into a man with the legs and feet of a duck. This was bad in and of itself, but he could only manage a squeak and his hair was the same bubblegum pink that Tonks usually favored.

Fred and George were grinning like mad. Fred, who had bet that the product was ready for distribution, handed George a few knuts, and the pair of them turned back to their younger brother, who was now waddling out of the room. It was one of the few perfects moments in their career.

They only got to savor their triumph for a second before Mrs. Weasley came out of the kitchen. She had lived with the twins for her whole life, and seeing her youngest son trying to walk with the legs of a bird, she put two and two together and chased the miscreants out of the room.

Harry handed Ginny a Sickle. Charlie was puzzled. "What was that for?"

"Hmm?"

"I know what Fred and George were betting on, but why is _she_ giving _you_ money?"

"We had a bet going, too," explained Harry, a little sheepishly. "About whether Hermione or Mrs. Weasley would kill them first." Charlie thought that Hermione was something of a sucker's bet in this situation, but he just nodded his understanding.

And all would have been well had not Hermione overheard this exchange. This snapped her out of her haze of mirth and she went homicidal, as if to make up for not killing the twins when she had the chance. Harry and Ginny wisely fled before her, running as fast as their legs could carry them.

Charlie Weasley just stood and chuckled.


	2. Cry

Disclaimer: I don't own anything you recognize. It's all J. K. R.'s.

This was written for the 100 Times challenge in the Harry Potter Fanfiction Challenges Forum.

Chapter 2: Cry

He pulled her aside right after Dumbledore's funeral, asking her to listen to something that was going to be very difficult for him.

He didn't _say _that he was leaving her forever, that he would love her only from afar for the rest of his days, or that those days might indeed consist only of a few short weeks. He _said_ that he was just letting her go until the war was over, keeping her safe from Voldemort, letting her build her own, safe life so that she would be alright on the million-to-one chance that he would not come back or on the (far higher than that of his not coming back, he professed to believe) chance that she found someone else better able to make her happy, even though they both knew that no such person existed. He claimed that when it was all over, when he'd killed Voldemort, they could be together again.

But she had seen the truth in his eyes. Facing Voldemort meant his death, and he knew that. He couldn't have a life with her afterwards, because for him there would be no afterwards.

But she didn't cry, not then, at least, because his emerald eyes were desperately maintaining contact with hers, begging her to be strong, so that he could be. It is an ancient power that loved ones have always had, that of imparting strength when we need it most. She had this power in spades, and knew when to use it, so she nodded her understanding and turned away, unable to face his pain and hers any longer.

*****

They were all celebrating, all jubilant in the knowledge that they had won forever, that the Dark Lord was well and truly gone at last. Ginny should have been happy too. Her prediction about Harry had clearly been off the mark; he was still standing, tall and proud, over Voldemort's body.

But had she been so wrong in what she had foreseen? As she cautiously approached him and he turned to face her. His eyes seemed oddly blank, strangely cold. He did not seem to see her, but rather seemed to be looking past her. And she knew that the Harry she had loved was dead, as surely as if he were lying on the ground beside Voldemort, under the effects of the same curse. His body was still there, but what made him Harry was not.

The revelers completely failed to notice their savior slipping away into the trees. Only much, much later would even Ron and Hermione inquire after him. One girl, the girl who loved him, watched him vanish like a wraith into the shadows of the Forbidden Forest. And Ginny Weasley wept. She wept in grief for Harry's lost innocence, and in rage for the war that had stripped him so quickly of his family and, eventually, shredded his humanity just as he defeated the greatest threat to love.

Luna, who had come silently up beside her, mourned as well, but _she _mourned for the wizarding world's loss of their hero, and not for the annihilation of all that was Harry. Ginny moved away, and was not comforted by the false commiseration. Usually Luna was good at this sort of thing, but the burden of understanding here was Ginny's alone.

She would weep on that day for every year of her life, while her husband and children laughed and celebrated. While her family around her rejoiced, she remembered and she cried.


	3. Dream

Disclaimer: I don't own anything you recognize. It's all J. K. R.'s.

This was written for the 100 Times challenge in the Harry Potter Fanfiction Challenges Forum.

Chapter 3: Dream

_She was standing on a dune with sand the color of old blood, which was apropos. __**Who's it going to be this time?**__ She hoped that only one came today; it was terribly awkward to try and talk to two dead people at once, since they invariably started a conversation that she could have no part in._

_Only one came. She saw him striding over the desert towards her, pace quick and sure, not the limp to which she had become accustomed, present as a result of his dealings with dragons. He hailed her as he grew closer, blue eyes fixed on her face. She greeted him warmly in return. _

_"How is he?"_

_She laughed. "He just got another owl from the school. Rose used a permanent sticking charm on the Malfoy boy's chair. Very impressive at her age. I wish she'd shown her skill another way, though, since we had to send a Howler for the look of things. So he's proud, but also a little tired from work."_

_"And Ginny?"_

_Hermione shrugged. "She and Harry have just gone off to Australia for a bit, since all the kids are gone. My parents kept the cottage in which they lived in as the Wilkins, so the Potters are staying there. I haven't heard from them yet."_

_Charlie Weasley sighed. "You know, he's probably the only guy she could have brought home without us killing him, but she never did. When he visited, it was never as Harry, Ginny's boyfriend. It was always Ron's friend who stayed with us."_

_"I think it would have made him uncomfortable. He liked just being Ron's friend to you, since your parents seemed to like him in that capacity. If he'd come home and announced that he was dating little Ginny, Mr. Weasley would have gone into protective father mode, and Harry wanted your father to like him. I don't think he realized that you all would have been happy about his dating Ginny."_

_Charlie shrugged. "Doesn't matter, I suppose. They're happy together now." He smiled sadly, and she knew that he was thinking that he would never get to have that. "Percy and Penelope?"_

_"Still fine. Percy got a raise, and he was terribly excited for a while, but he eventually subsided."_

_Charlie smiled slightly, and they sat in silence for a few minutes. Finally, Hermione gathered her courage and asked the question that had been on her mind since the dreams began. "Are you happy here? Wouldn't you rather go on?"_

_Charlie took a while to answer, and when he did, she had to strain to hear him. "Some of us wish to go on, but we stay for the others, the ones who aren't ready yet." He sighed. "Hermione, they won't go on because you keep them here. That's why I came today. To ask you to stop coming here."_

_Hermione stared at him. __**Stop coming here? Stop coming to see the people she missed all through the day, and often at night?**__ She shook her head. "I can't. I'm not ready."_

_Charlie's bright blue eyes, the only part of him that wasn't the muted tints of his current place of residence, flashed angrily. "This is not about you! This is about them, about Neville and Luna and Fred!" His shoulders sagged and the fierce look in his eyes turned pleading. "Especially Fred. Hermione, you __**know**__ that as long as you keep coming, he'll never leave. It's not right."_

_Hermione made no reply. _

_"You're married, for Merlin's sake!" _

_"I know."_

_"Ron deserves your loyalty."_

_"I know."_

_"And Fred is __**dead**__."_

_"I __**know**__!" She glared at him through tears. "You think I don't know that, that I'd somehow not realize by the fact that I can only see him in my dreams? That I thought he'd just gone away on a little trip?" She subsided a little and added bitterly, "You think that anything could have made me marry Ron if I thought there was the __**slightest chance**__ that I could have Fred?"_

_Charlie stared at her. He had never seen his sister-in-law like this before. While he had understood that she and Fred had been exceptionally close, he had always been bracing himself for the inevitable shock that hit Fred when she chose Ron over him. After all, Hermione had been friends with the youngest Weasley boy for years, whereas her relationship with Fred hadn't come about until after Hermione had left Hogwarts._ _"I had no idea," he managed finally._

_Hermione laughed, "Nobody ever bothered to ask, did he? Everyone assumed I was using Fred to make Ron jealous. Harry actually accused me of it once—I slapped him—and Mrs. Weasley almost exiled me from the Burrow; she thought I was playing with two of her boys' hearts. What could I say? That I was not interested in Ron, that I never had been, that in fact I thought him a bit of an arse? That would have gone over well."_

_Charlie was speechless. Hermione strode purposefully away to the portal, which hovered like a gaping eye in the air. She stepped into it and it closed with a snap._

Hermione woke up with Ron's arm slung over her shoulder. She pushed it off irritably and padded to the kitchen, where the digital Muggle clock over the stove announced that it was 3: 18. She gulped down a glass of water as she swallowed a Muggle knockout pill. She could have taken Dreamless Sleep Potion, but that, amazingly, removed the possibility of dreams, and she couldn't have that. She strode with a peculiar determination back into her bedroom.

Within half an hour, she was asleep again.

_She was standing on smooth, black marble, which was cold to her bare feet. Before her was a door, the golden key in the lock. She approached the frame and took the key in one hand. To her surprise, she barely had to pull on it; it fell into her hand almost of its own accord. Now came the part that would almost certainly fail. _

_She put the key in her pocket and sat down to wait. Usually, she woke as soon as she came back through the door, but as she wasn't planning on going through tonight, she would just have to wait and see. She sat there until a hand touched her shoulder. She turned _and looked into Ron's concerned eyes.

"All right, Hermione?"

She nodded. "Just a bad dream."

"Try Dreamless Sleep tonight."

"I don't think the dreams will trouble me again."

Ron shrugged and wrapped his arm around her again. They lay in bed until eight, at which point they rose and prepared for work. Ron floo'ed to work at ten 'til nine, but Hermione's department didn't need her until noon, so she had time to kill.

She waited a few minutes to be sure that her husband wouldn't be coming back for something he'd forgotten, and then she reached into her pocket. Her hand closed on a small, cold object. She fished the key out and stood holding it for a minute, admiring the play of the light on the carvings. Then, bracing herself for the pain, she cast the key into the fire.

As the metal warped and twisted, Hermione felt a sharp stab in her heart. She had just voluntarily destroyed the link between her and the man she loved. She collapsed by the flames and wept.

When the flame burned out at half past eleven, Hermione did not immediately rekindle it for her journey to work. She first sifted through the ashes until she found a pile of golden dust. A snap of her fingers, and it was collected in a vase. She carried the precious burden some ways, to a large lake, into which she dumped the glittering dust.

The water had barely closed around the remains of Hermione's link to her love when Hermione was already on her way back to the house. She would have to hurry so as not to be late for work.


	4. Kiss

Disclaimer: I don't own anything you recognize. It's all J. K. R.'s.

This was written for the 100 Times challenge in the Harry Potter Fanfiction Challenges Forum.

Chapter 4: Kiss

There she was, talking to Harry. He pushed his way through the crowd towards her. Almost there!

He felt someone slam into him, then he stepped back and saw that he had splashed punch all over Dean Thomas's robes. "Merlin, Neville!" The boy called Neville mumbled an apology and continued on his way, cheeks hot. He wished, almost more than anything else, that he weren't clumsy. The humiliation involved in constantly tripping over one's feet is considerable. But at the moment he had far more important things to worry about.

One of those more important concerns was the girl towards whom he was determinedly making his way through the crowd. So engrossed was she in the handsome boy before her that she didn't notice Neville's valiant attempts to catch her eye. She laughed at something Harry said, tossing her hair, and Neville felt a rare knot of jealousy tighten his chest. Over the years, he had become largely inured to the glory that destiny threw upon Harry, making the shadows around his companions all the sharper. But this… this was different.

Still, she had agreed to come to the ball with _him_. That had to mean something, right?

At last Ginny caught sight of him. She turned reluctantly from Harry. "Hi, Neville."

"Ginny. I—I—Do you want to dance?"

She looked startled. "Um…" There was a beat of silence. Her eyes darted around, and he realized that she was looking for an excuse to refuse. The room tilted, colors running together, and the scene in his vision narrowed to include nothing more than the duo in front of him. Merlin, why not say it, even if just in his thoughts? The _couple_ in front of him. It wasn't official yet, but it was only a matter of time.

"Just—just—never mind." He scurried away.

He was halfway across the room when he felt a delicate touch on his arm. He turned to see Ginny standing beside him, big brown eyes looking up at him. "Did you still want to dance?"

He felt as though he could have taken on a hundred Blast-Ended Skrewts. "S—sure." He waited for her to respond. After a second, as she continued to watch him expectantly, he understood that it was still his move. He offered her his arm, and they went together onto the dance floor.

The first dance went well enough. He started clumsily, but it was fairly slow. Ginny was uncharacteristically patient and guided him through the steps. His heart was bursting with pride. Even Viktor Krum, with Hermione Granger on his arm, was not half so lucky.

Unfortunately, it all went downhill from there. The second dance, for which Ginny had consented to continue to serve him as a partner, was a faster tune, and he knew from the first time that he trod on her toes that it was going to be a debacle. By the three minute mark, she was visibly limping.

Finally, he could no longer bear her winces. He led her to a chair and stood there awkwardly as she rubbed her feet. "Ginny, I'm sor—sorry."

She smiled through teeth gritted in pain. "It's fine, Neville. Really."

He sat down beside her, still smiling unhappily. They sat in awkward silence for a while. It was drawing close to midnight, and Neville could feel his precious time with her slipping away. He wanted to say something, to draw her into a conversation, but he didn't know how.

A single chime of the great clock, established at the far end of the hall for just the night of the dance, announced eleven-thirty, and Ginny turned to Neville, probably to excuse herself. _Just do it!_ So he did.

He brought his face close to Ginny's face and, before she could pull away, he placed his lips on hers.

She tasted of chocolate, he noticed distractedly, before he lost himself in the sensation of his first kiss. But something was wrong. _Isn't she supposed to be doing something?_

Then Ginny did something. She pulled away, shock and horror written all over her face. Standing faster than anyone he had ever seen, she forced a smile and said, "It's getting late. I have to go. I'll… see you. Around. Yeah." And then she turned on her heel and fled.

Neville sat there in a daze. Why had he even _considered_ Hermione? She had nothing on Ginny. Just… nothing.

As he watched the petite redhead practically run towards her bushy-haired friend, he made a promise to himself. _Someday she will kiss me back._


	5. Hug

Disclaimer: I don't own anything you recognize. It's all J. K. R.'s.

A/N: This was written for the 100 Times challenge in the Harry Potter Fanfiction Challenges Forum.

This chapter is pretty dark.

Chapter 5: Hug

I keep my arms tight around Harry, despite his gentle attempts to pry me off. Though he doesn't speak, doesn't even look at me, I can tell what he's thinking, as I always can. He's thinking, _I wish she would go away. She means well—Hermione always does—but she's not helping._ What he doesn't understand is that I am not hugging him to ease _his_ pain. It is _my_ agony that I trying to put from my mind. Holding him tightly to me lessens the pain. Just a little, but enough that I don't break down completely.

Hysterics are not something we can afford at the moment. They are coming after us, and if they catch us, our fate will be worse than the painful death that met many of our friends. So really, letting me hold him is his duty to the both of us.

His body is warm, even through his tattered shirt, which in places is caked with dried blood—his or someone else's? He certainly both injured and was injured, so it's hard to tell.

The lack of such grisly brown adornments on my own clothing is a glaring reminder that _I_ was not there to protect him or anyone else. Oh no. _I_ was safe in the castle. Hiding, under the guise of protecting the students.

In fact, if Harry hadn't come straight from our defeat to warn me, I would never have known. They would have shown up and dragged me away, and I would have been helpless.

I can feel the moment he stops resisting me, the point at which he relaxes into me and lets my presence sooth him. It hurts that it took him that long, but then, I didn't lose my reason for living in two swift strokes of Bellatrix Lestrange's wand. I didn't watch my girlfriend throw herself before a Killing Curse to protect her brother. Nor did I then watch that brother, my best friend, die anyway as he struggled to his feet, clutching desperately for his wand.

I wish that I had. I wish that I had been there to see Ginny and Ron die, and to die myself, rather than surviving to behold Harry's misery.

Selfish of me, no doubt about that, since it is quite likely that on this perilous journey, I will be of great help to him, and maybe even enable his continued survival, but I cannot help my feelings.

I can't tell _him_ all this, so I just rub his back and rock him back and forth, knowing that he hates it, that it is only irritating him. Because I have to, or go insane. Because I must, or turn my wand on myself. Because I need to, or I will sink into heartbreak.


	6. Kill

Disclaimer: I don't own anything you recognize. It's all J. K. R.'s.

A/N: This was written for the 100 Times challenge in the Harry Potter Fanfiction Challenges Forum.

This is another dark one.

Chapter 6: Kill

They came from behind and spread out to surround her, with the Weasley male directly in front of her, glaring as though it had been she who had killed his family. Well, that was fair enough. She would have if she'd had the chance. Just as he would have seen all of her relations to hell if he'd been given the opportunity. The only difference was that if the war went on as it was, he would get his chance, whereas the Lestranges had forever deprived her of her fun with the Weasley warren.

She stood proud and tall in the ruins of her family home, jaw set, looking her enemies square in the eye. She would be _damned_ before she'd let those halfbloods and blood traitors see her cry. Not to mention the filthy Mudblood.

"If it isn't Parkinson the pug," the redheaded boy spat. That was rich, coming from a weasel in name and in merit.

"Get out of my house, scum."

He laughed derisively and made a show of looking around him at the stubs of walls, the scorched oaken floor splintered in places from the battle that had raged here. "Not much of a house, is it?"

"You _bastard_." Almost without meaning to, Pansy started towards him, raising her wand.

"Expelliarmus!" Four voices shouted in unison, with varying degrees of malice. Out of the five Gryffindors, Ron Weasley, the only one in immediate danger, was the only one who hadn't bothered to react. He just watched with a scornful smirk as four spells struck Pansy simultaneously, slamming her into the pile of bricks that had once divided the public parlour from the family sitting room.

Pansy hit the wall hard, and her head erupted in a kaleidoscope of pain, the dark red of fresh blood and the lividness of an old bruise, but she did not pass out. Years of living with a Parkinson male tended to increase one's pain tolerance, and Pansy refused to lose consciousness. She shook the pain away and discreetly groped for her wand, which had flown from her hand. It was nowhere to be found, but she felt something else, something smooth and solid, curved and cold.

Feigning insensibility, she closed her hand around the object, which was hidden under the rubble among which her right hand had landed, and felt around the base, trying to identify it, careful not to touch the tip in case it was what she thought it was. She finally determined that it was indeed the dragon spike that her father had displayed on the wall as evidence of his virility. _As though he slew the beast himself, _she thought disdainfully, _rather than buying the tail spikes off some Romanian trash._ But then, that was just like her father, wasn't it? To cultivate the appearance of ferocity, only putting in the work when it as absolutely necessary.

Of course, when he had to, he could demonstrate more than the appearance of cruelty. The scars on her back were ample proof of that.

Potter's voice. "Oh, great, now we've knocked her out. What happened to, 'Get her to come quietly if possible'?"

"You all saw it. She attacked me."

Pansy, who had expected acquiescence and support from the Weasel's companions, despite the obvious flaw in his argument, was surprised to hear the Weaselette scold him, "Because you provoked her, you idiot."

"What? After all the times she's insulted _our_ house?"

"That's not the point." Now the mudblood was putting her two cents in. "You're supposed to be the bigger person." Weasley snorted and started a scathing reply, but the Boy-Who-Wouldn't-Do-the-Rest-of-the-World-a-Favor-and-Die-Already interrupted him.

"Neville, find her wand. If one of us loses ours, it might come in handy, if we can get it to work. I'll pick her up: we still have to take her with us. It's possible she knows something that we haven't been able to learn from our spies."

_That's right, Potter, I know something you don't know._ Namely that Pansy had a razor-sharp, highly venomous spike in her hand, currently behind the leg of a chair, hidden from sight.

Potter approached her. Her vision was blurred and spotted from the pain of her high-speed collision with a brick wall, but she could see through slitted eyes as his silhouette drew close. When he bent over her, arms outstretched, preparing to gather her up, she struck with the lightning speed characteristic of her house's mascot, the serpent.

Pansy drove her impromptu weapon straight upwards and buried it in Potter's chest. Eyes widened with shock and pain, he staggered back, the spike deep in his heart. _That particular organ isn't as far to the left as everyone thinks._ Sometimes being born into a family of fighters had tremendous benefits.

"Harry!" _Ah, the fear of the hero-worshipper at the possibility of losing the object of his veneration. That would be…_ Longbottom.

The hapless, round-faced boy ran to Potter's side and caught him before he fell to the ground. Pansy watched in satisfaction as the "Savior" of the wizarding world writhed in agony. The other Gryffindors huddled around him, shrieking hysterically and firing off useless spell after useless spell in futile attempt to counteract the creature's incurable venom.

As Potter's twitching subsided and he sank into unconsciousness, which Pansy knew to be a signal that the venom's effect was too far gone to be reversed, his pet mudblood and his precious blood traitor girlfriend spun on his murderer, whose dark eyes didn't turn towards them, still riveted on the dark blood trickling down the side of the spike. Almost casually, as though licking an ice-cream cone, she extended her tongue and swept it over the white bone, washing the blood away.

_My lord is going to be so proud of me._ "It doesn't matter what you do to me now, you know," the Death Eater informed the Gryffindor bitches, finally turning her baleful gaze on them. "He's won. My lord, _your_ lord, has won. And even if you torture me, even if you kill me, I will die happy, because I have helped him win, and he will honor me. He will be so pleased with me! _I_ have ushered in a new era for the wizarding world." A leer distorted her face. "Better start running, Granger. Your days are numbered. You don't have Potter to protect you now. Because Potter's dead, isn't he?"

A sob burst from Neville's throat, Ginny wheeled around to face her boyfriend's still-warm corpse, and Pansy cackled her jubilation. "Poor Weaselette, you were awfully fond of him. Did you _love_ him?" Ginny's shoulders stiffened. "You _did_. Oh, my condolences. I'm _so_ sorry for your loss."

"Petrificus Totalus" from Granger shut Pansy's mouth, and a heartfelt "Crucio!" from the Weaselette sent Pansy into sheer agony. Her last thought before the pain rendered logical thought impossible was, _Ah, but she doesn't get the pleasure of seeing me squirm. I have Granger to thank for that._

Pansy laughed silently despite her pain, the Gryffindors mourned their fallen friend, and, somewhere in Scotland, a colubrine figure celebrated his impending rise to power.


	7. Scream

Disclaimer: I don't own any of this. It's all J. K. R.'s.

Chapter 7: Scream

In summer, Privet Drive would be cookie-cutter pleasant, with vivid flowers abounding in window boxes and crystalline drops falling from unobtrusive sprinklers onto emerald grass. Young boys would stroll down the street on the way to the playground, and little girls would have tea parties on the lawns in front of their red brick and shiny glass houses. Golden retrievers named Buddy and Noodle would bound eagerly ahead of their hapless owners, who would be regretting their spur-of-the-moment decision to take their canine friends for a walk in the morning, before it was too hot.

But at the moment it was late fall, verging on winter, and a malodorous wind tickled the few remaining leaves on the scraggly trees along the street. The glorious gold of the sun did battle with the dull haze of a polluted city sky, the neighborhood's children were rising sluggishly and grudgingly readying themselves for school, and Buddy was fast asleep in Junior's bed, since Mrs. Jones was unwilling to risk catching a chill while walking him.

In fact, only one living soul was out and about on Privet Drive, and that one only if the term "out and about" is defined loosely. Sleeping soundly on the doorstep of Number Four, Privet Drive, was a young boy wrapped in swaddling clothing. This was Harry Potter, and he was a hero.

He didn't look it. The odd scar on his forehead might look rakish when he was twenty, or distinguished by the time he hit fifty, but other than that… He seemed an entirely ordinary toddler, with a pudgy face and tiny hands, one of which peeped out from the blanket cocooning him.

The next denizen of Privet Drive to brave the November morning, Mr. Wilcox from Number Seven, had no idea that as he commuted to work, musing on the possibility of postponing his appointment with his dentist, Dr. Granger, he was passing a legend. Of course, had someone pointed out to him that Harry Potter was very near to him, he would have treated such person to a blank look. Harry Potter who?

Soon after Mr. Wilcox's Ford Angelica turned the corner and vanished from sight, other suburbanites trickled out from their houses, suppressing yawns and vowing that when they retired, they would sleep till noon. If anyone saw the little bundle on the step of Number Four, he attributed it to such mundane causes as one of the Dursley boy's toys or a pile of rubbish.

The inhabitants of Number Four would have been horrified to think that their neighbors considered it possible for them to have _rubbish_ on their step. But as they were not tuned into the narrator's subjunctive world, neither Mr. nor Mrs. Dursley had any inkling of the boy who had been left in their charge by persons unknown.

That is, until Petunia Dursley opened the door to put out the milk bottles. As she bent to lay them down, she saw that the usually bare step was occupied by a small child of the male persuasion, who, despite the essential similarities between all small children, bore an uncanny resemblance to _that Potter boy_.

Mrs. Dursley screamed.


	8. Bleed

Disclaimer: I don't own any of this. It's all J. K. R.'s.

Chapter 8: Bleed

_Oh, Merlin, this shouldn't be me, trying to cure her._ If anything, our positions ought to be the other way around. Hermione knew every healing spell in the book—in all the books, actually—whereas I had acquired only a basic knowledge. _Thank you, protective big brothers,_ I thought bitterly. _I can see that keeping me 'out of harm's way' was the best possible decision, since it has left me with only rudimentary power over the healing arts. But then, why would I need healing spells? It's not like we're at war. Oh wait, we __**are**_.

Hermione moaned, and I turned my attention from the malevolent cosmos to my injured friend. She was still clutching her side, from which blood was dripping. My applying a strip of my cloak as a bandage had lessened the flow, but could not stop it completely. _I'm not sure anything can stop this._ Especially since it was only one of several cuts, all of which were furiously gushing crimson. I had bound her wounds as best I could, but some of them were in tricky positions, and most of the others were too deep to respond to dressing.

Her eyes flickered open. They were deep-set from the fatigue of war and seemed unnaturally dark in her face, which had taken on a grayish pallor. Considering her massive blood loss, I was amazed she was capable of consciousness.

But I soon saw that it was barely consciousness at all, and that she was incapable of rational thought. Her eyes shone with a feverish light, her brow was hot, and when she spoke, it was little more than disconnected ramblings about places and people currently far away.

"Ron… Where are you, Ron? I have to tell you something… it's important." Three guesses what that was. My brother had died before she got a chance to tell him how she really felt about him. And the idiot was too thick to realise it.

But that plea for his company was the most coherent sentence she uttered in those long hours of the night, as I sent distress signal after distress signal to various members of the Order, begging them to come if they could. The rest of her words were largely fragments that could have referred to Hogwarts (or a dozen other places), or else to Harry—or to three dozen other people. Not the most comforting thing when you're trying to convince yourself of your eight-year friend's continued sanity.

Perhaps an hour later, around dawn judging from the angle and tint of the light coming in the filthy windows, she slipped into oblivion again, and I sent my Patronus off to Kingsley _again_, holding Hermione's hand as I watched the silver horse gallop through the wall.

A few minutes passed and I reached up to Hermione's temple to brush a lock of her bushy hair away from her hair. It came away scarlet, and I bit my lip. Then she coughed, and I turned my attention to her mouth. She had been spitting up blood, but this time she exhaled only air.

I was momentarily relieved, until I saw that she didn't draw in another breath. "Hermione?"

She had lifted her head slightly to cough, though her eyes had stayed tightly shut; now she collapsed onto the floor of the Shrieking Shack again. Her hand, which had a death grip on mine, loosened and finally quitted its hold.

"Hermione, can you hear me?" My voice was shrill as, panicking, I slapped her face. Her head rolled slightly and then fell back into its original position. I began to shake her. _She can't die. She can't die. I __**promised**__ him! I promised Ron I'd protect her!_

And then the door, which I had locked against _Alohamora_ but had otherwise not magically protected, exploded, showering me with fragments of wood. The doorknob went flying past my head. And then strong arms wrapped around me, drawing me back from Hermione.

My father held me to him as Auror Shacklebolt bent over Hermione. He had commenced casting diagnostic spells the second he hurled himself through the door, but I saw through a haze of confusion and horror that he was weaving them again.

The large wizard turned to my father. "Get her out of here, Arthur! I'll follow."

_He means, "We'll follow," of course. Hermione will come too. He wouldn't just leave her, would he?_ Surely the war hadn't hardened him _that_ much. _No, he'll bring her, even if it puts him in danger. He wouldn't abandon a comrade in need._

And then my father pulled me out into the corridor. The floor had always been riddle with holes, but now there was a gaping maw where the threadbare carpet had been. But he guided me around it and we got to the end of the hall.

I screamed. The planks ended in a jagged line, stretching out over nothingness. Looking down, I could see the rubble that had been the stairs, now lying a heap of wood on the first story.

"Ginny, listen to me. Ginny? Ginny!" I forced myself to look at my father. "We can't apparate from here, there are tracking spells on us. We're going to have to climb down. Can you hold on to me?"

I didn't answer; I couldn't. I was staring into the darkness.

He grabbed me by the waist and began the descent.

I closed my eyes as he lowered us down. It wasn't that I was scared of heights. You can't be and play quidditch. But the dark abyss… that was another thing altogether.

We reached the ground around the time the building decided it could no longer bear our weight. The ceiling near where the stairs had been and the section of wall my father was currently using for a foothold crumbled.

We landed hard on the floor with a hail of debris raining down on us, but my father hauled me up and propelled me along. A board struck my head and as I reeled away, I felt a warm trickle running down my forehead. I was bleeding.

A/N: Kudos to those of you who know the spell that felled Hermione/can tell me why it would not have mattered if it had been she tending Ginny, rather than as it was.


	9. Giggle

Disclaimer: I don't own any of this. It's all J. K. R.'s.

A/N: We never saw what happened to our favorite Gryffindor gossipmongers, so I thought I'd come up with something. And who better for giggling than Lavender Brown?

Chapter 9: Giggle

Hermione Granger-Weasley was very much annoyed. _He _swore_ he'd be on time!_ Her husband had promised to meet her outside Flourish and Blotts at eleven o'clock precisely. It was already a quarter past. Hermione, who had a meeting at noon that she had to dress for, was not feeling particularly patient. She looked up and down the street for her wayward spouse, but he was nowhere to be seen. Just like the last ten times she'd looked.

Leaning against the outside of the bookstore, trying not to slump too obviously, Hermione was startled to hear a girlish little laugh. _I haven't heard a laugh like that in twenty years. _Really, the only word for it was "giggle". _It can't be…_

As astute readers may already have guessed, it was. Lavender Brown exited Madame Malkins, clutching several bags. A brown arm wrapped securely about the blonde's pink-clad waist as Parvati Patil followed her long-time friend out of the shop. Parvati was whispering something into Lavender's ear and Lavender looked delighted.

Then the two turned toward Flourish and Blotts and stopped dead. The pair regarded Hermione for a moment in silence, and then Lavender squealed. "Her_mi_one!" The former Hogwarts Head Girl gagged on perfumed curls as Lavender leapt on her, forcing the air from her lungs. "Nice to see you, Lavender," she spit out along with a long golden lock. Lavender released Hermione, who smiled wanly at Parvati. "Hello."

Parvati beamed at her. "Hello, then. We haven't seen you in…Merlin, it's been a long time, hasn't it? How—"

Lavender cut in. "You've been keeping busy, I see." Giggling, she looked significantly at Hermione's slightly swollen belly, and Hermione reddened.

"Yes, well."

"There was a moment of awkward silence and then Lavender squealed again and began chattering about the joy of babies, punctuating her remarks about boys versus girls with the occasional giggle. Hermione listened patiently, trying her hardest not to be so rude as to tune out entirely. Her eyes were finally glazing over when she felt a firm hand on her shoulder. She turned to see her husband standing behind her looking sheepish. "Sorry, I'm late. Bill was busy, and our meeting didn't start until eleven." He seemed to notice Hermione's companions for the first time. "Oh, erm, hi."

Lavender giggled, and Hermione couldn't help but flinch. Ron was hers now, she had nothing to worry about, but Lavender had never made any secret of her affection for the youngest Weasley male, and Ron had always had a weakness for blondes. Hermione had just opened her mouth to say that she and her husband had really better be going—it wasn't even a lie—when Parvati beat her to it.

"It's been lovely to see you both, really, but Lav's mum is coming over later," Hermione wasn't surprised to hear that they were still sharing a flat. They had been best friends, after all, "and we wanted to tidy up a bit before she arrived. We'll see you two again soon, though." She produced a calling card of the sort used by young people who were forever giving out their contact information and offered it to Hermione, who took it reluctantly. She wasn't entirely sure she _wanted_ to see the pair again. Parvati was alright, but Lavender grated on her nerves.

The two girls bid the Granger-Weasleys farewell and set off down the street together, laughing and talking as they had always been wont to do. Ron, watching them go, said, "Well, we should drop in on them some time."

Hermione, about to say that they would do no such thing, happened to glance down at the card in her hand.

**Parvati and Lavender Patil-Brown**

_**Floo:**_** 15 Lois Lane **_**or**_** Patil and Brown, Seers**

Patil-Brown. _Oh. _

Hermione grinned at her husband. "Yes, we really should." Ron looked startled by his wife's acquiescence, but she didn't notice. She was looking down the street where Parvati whispered into Lavender's ear, and Lavender giggled.

A/N: Lavender does quite a lot of giggling in this chapter, but then, that was the point.


	10. Slap

Disclaimer: I don't own any of this. It's all J. K. R.'s.

A/N: I had originally planned for this to be about Hermione, but I felt we needed some more Ginny in this series. Besides, Hermione really doesn't slap people unless she absolutely has to. The incident in third year was a one-off sort of thing. Ginny has a bit more spunk.

Chapter 10: Slap

Thanks to Ron's triumphant rehashing of the tale in the red and gold common room, everyone knows about the first time a Gryffindor slapped Draco Malfoy. Far fewer, however, are aware that a second girl dared to redden the Slytherin's pale cheek. This was largely due to the fact that only two people were present, and neither wants to tell the story.

Draco Malfoy was making his rounds of the castle when he heard a strange, muffled sound. He rounded a corner to find a girl slumped against the wall, sobbing. He didn't recognize her, so she probably wasn't a Slytherin. He grinned. He could just _feel_ the points slipping away from some hapless Hufflepuff or gormless Gryffindor. The thought gave him ineffable pleasure. Then she looked up.

_Bugger._ Why did it have to be _her_? Her friend the Mudblood? Good to take her down a peg. Precious Potter? Even better. And of course he would just love to land that moronic brother of hers in detention. But he wasn't prepared for this scenario. This was different.

Ginny Weasley glared at her boyfriend's—ex-boyfriend, sorry—nemesis. He stared back for a second before his face rearranged itself into a look of disdain, with just the right hint of malicious glee.

"Well, if it isn't the Weaselette."

"Sod off, Malfoy."

She didn't sound very angry, just defeated. Draco thought about mentioning it, but then decided that Malfoys didn't tell their enemies that they weren't bitter enough. Granted, it was very seldom needed, so he didn't know of a precedent, but he was sure that if there had been one, that's what it would have said. After all, tradition had to start somewhere.

"Tsk, tsk. That's not very polite. Maybe a month's detention for being out after curfew will teach you some manners."

Ginny's head slipped forward a fraction, and Draco got the impression that if her shoulders hadn't already been slumped, they would have become so. He crouched down in front of her, peering into her face with mock concern. "What's the matter, Weaselette? Having a bad day?"

She looked up a little and glared into his eyes. Her eyelashes were clumped together, and he noticed that they were lighter than her hair. Her lips were compressed into a thin line, and Draco had the sudden urge to kiss her.

Instead, he laughed at her. "Did Potter decide he preferred Patil?" Pretending to muse over the idea, Draco didn't see the look of amazement on Ginny's face. "I wouldn't blame him," he muttered. "At least _she'd_ put ou—"

Stars erupted into his vision as the Gryffindor slapped him. Draco's first thought after he recovered from the shock was that Ginny was defending her One True Love. But then, looking at her through the red haze just beginning to clear, he saw that she looked fierce but small, and he wondered if maybe he hadn't been so far off the mark.

"Weasley," he said slowly. "Where is Potter? Shouldn't he be protecting his girlfriend?"

"_Ex_-girlfriend!" Ginny spat venomously. "Not that it's any of your business!"

Oh, dear. Maybe he had stumbled upon the truth without realizing it.

"Oh." A long silence. "I'm...I'm sorry." Draco didn't take his eyes from he ground.

"Thank you." It hung in the air like a question, Ginny almost daring him to make a sarcastic remark. He didn't.

They sat there for a full quarter of an hour in silence, determinedly avoiding each other's eyes, and then Draco sprang to his feet. "Come on." And he was moving and around the corner before Ginny could blink. She clambered slowly to her feet and hobbled down the corridor towards her common room.

A/N: Please review, whether you liked it or not.


	11. Attack

Disclaimer: Please don't sue me.

* * *

Ginny Potter flopped down onto her couch. The house was completely free of children for the first time for many, many years. She knew that later she'd feel lonely, but at the moment she could only be deliriously happy. "Well, that's it, then," she said matter-of-factly.

Her husband seemed to share her feelings. He sat down beside her and rubbed her knee with his hand. "I can't believe they're gone! What we can do without them!" He hadn't sounded that excited since Ron had bought James a mini-broomstick. That particular gift had made him Coolest Uncle for a while, before Lily Luna acquired a Kneazle from an anonymous source with George's handwriting.

Then Harry's green eyes dimmed a bit. "Ginny, what are we going to do without them?" He turned so he was facing her head-on and his features were uncharacteristically serious. "There are lots of things we couldn't do in front of the children. Things that they wouldn't want to see, or that would be inappropriate..."

Ginny played dumb. "Is that so?"

Harry was already sitting quite close to her, but he scooted closer. "I think it is." Ginny was unsurprised when he placed his hands on her waist. She gently laid her own hands over his and smiled gently at him, thinking how lucky she was.

Harry's eyes were deep enough to fall into, as always. "We can do whatever we want," he breathed.

Raising an eyebrow, Ginny asked, "What did you have in mind?"

Harry's smile changed from blissful to demonic in a blink. "Tickle attack!" He dug his fingers into her sides and Ginny shrieked with surprise and no little glee. Seconds later, she was laughing so hard she keeled over and fell off the couch. Harry followed her to the floor, still tickling. When Ginny was just a giggling ball of red hair and fair arms waving wildly, Harry stopped.

"Now that's out of the way..." He grinned that lopsided grin and Ginny smiled back and pulled him in for a kiss.

"You," she whispered into his lips, pulling away for a second and meeting his eyes.

"Are." She stopped again to caress his back.

"So." She pulled away from him for a full five seconds, leaned in very close, and murmured, "Gullible."

Then she went for the tickle.

It was hours later before it occurred to either of them to actually do what they kept pretending to do. Tickle attacks were just too much fun.

When they finally got round to it and lay together in bed, Ginny whispered to a drowsy Harry, "Hey. Hey. Hey."

He opened one eye. "Mnpf?"

"I love you."

He opened his other eye and smiled blissfully, for real this time. "I love you, too."

They slept.


End file.
